


Between Strangers

by lost_spook



Category: Public Eye (TV)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curtain Fic, F/M, Pre-Series, Snowed In, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:59:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1551335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to sell encyclopedias in the middle of the worst winter of the century wasn’t the best idea to begin with. And now Frank Marker's wound up trying to rescue a single mother and her baby who’ve been abandoned at a bus stop, and all he’s got to hand is a car that won’t go and several dozen copies of <i>The A-Z of Everything...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2014 Uncoventional Courtship fest. The M&B/Harlequin summary used was this one: 
> 
>   _78) Between Strangers – Linda Conrad_  
>  _Rescuing a stranded mother and baby from a raging blizzard hasn’t been part of [Frank Marker]’s plans. Yet he couldn’t abandon [Helen Mortimer]. And ended up getting snowed in with her, tasting those fiery kisses. She was all wrong for him, so why did she feel so right in his arms?_  
>   
> 
> This is an AU set 20 years pre-canon for an obscure fandom, so hopefully it's accessible as it stands, if not terribly exciting. (It's theoretically set in the winter of 1947, most likely around 24th-26th Jan, but canon has two possible timelines, thanks to the pragmatism of TV makers, so if anybody objects to Frank having access to petrol (or indeed enough paper for somebody to be printing encyclopeadias) at this point, it could just as equally be set in a freak snow storm in 1949.)
> 
> With many thanks to Persiflage for the beta!

The weather had been bad enough when Frank Marker had left London, and it was getting worse by the minute. It was snowing so hard he’d had to slow down to a crawl, barely able to even see where he was going. 

It didn’t help that the car he was driving hadn’t been in the best of shape when he’d hired it. He suspected that this Austin Ruby hadn’t been in the best of shape since it was first let loose on the road. He couldn’t keep it from sliding about the road, and, with the side windows open for visibility, it was just as freezing inside as out. And all this for a lot of encyclopaedias he hadn’t been able to sell, unless he counted that one set to the elderly lady who’d felt sorry for him (he’d knocked a little bit off the price anyway – she didn’t seem like someone who could really afford it). 

Well, he told himself, that was what he got for listening to what some bloke down the pub said was a great way to earn some money. Frank was all for not getting tied down in an office somewhere, but this was going a bit too far to the opposite extreme.

It was then, as he was inching his way along what he fervently hoped was the road, he saw a woman standing at the bus stop with a baby in her arms. That seemed a bit optimistic, he thought, and only then registered the implication. He hesitated until he’d passed by, but decided he had to at least stop and ask if she was all right. He brought the car to an eventual halt – if mainly by dint of lack of acceleration and accumulation of snow rather than the brakes doing much – and battled his way back to the bus stop.

“You all right?” he said, stamping up and down a bit. He’d got even colder than he’d realised stuck in the car. “Is someone coming for you?”

She stared back at him for what felt like a whole minute or two, and then reluctantly shook her head. She was, he realised, young enough that he had to wonder if she was the parent or an older sister, but it’d be tactless to ask.

“Look,” he said, “the weather’s awful. I can’t leave you two here like this, can I? I’m trying to see if I can make it into the next village and find somewhere to stay for a bit. I could give you a lift. How about it?”

She hesitated again, which was understandable – he was an unknown bloke picking her up at a bus stop, after all, even if the circumstances were a bit out of the ordinary.

“I’m a salesman,” he said. “Really. I’ve got a whole pile of encyclopaedias in the back seat to prove it. Come on, you can’t stay here – not with a baby!”

She smiled involuntarily. “Not a very good salesman, then,” she said.

“My first day on the job,” he said, and grinned at her. “Couldn’t have chosen a better time, could I?” Then he added, more seriously, “He’s all right, is he? Or is it a she?”

She looked down at the baby, and nodded. “Yes. I suppose I can’t say no, can I? Thank you.”

They made their way back to the car, Frank in the lead. It was against the wind this way, making it hard enough work just to reach the vehicle again. Frank managed to get the passenger door open for her, and then hurried round to the other side and climbed back in himself. He still wasn’t convinced it was actually any warmer inside than out. What was worse, the car proved to be even more uncooperative than before and protested feebly against any attempt to restart it. Frank grimaced and then turned to give the young woman an apologetic wince. “Sorry. Think it’s finally had it.”

“I’m surprised you got this far,” she said. “How did you get it to start in the first place?”

He looked at the dashboard and then shrugged. “Divine intervention? Anyway, trouble is, we can’t stay here, either. So, Miss –?” He caught himself. “I mean –”

“Mrs Mortimer,” she said, with a sudden edge of haughtiness to her tone that made him suspect it was a lie.

“If there’s a bus stop, there’s got to be civilisation somewhere near by. I’m pretty sure those things don’t just pop up in the middle of nowhere. I think we’d better follow that footpath – see if we can’t at least find a house.”

She pulled the baby in closer against her, half inside her coat, looking down at it, and shushing it as it began to whimper, for which Frank couldn’t blame it. “But would anybody take us in? We’ll look – well.” 

“Never mind that,” he said. “I’m sure most people wouldn’t chuck a baby out in this weather, and anyway, they should be able to give us directions to somewhere we can stay. Sitting here’s hardly any better than the bus shelter.”

They both got out of the car, and Frank looked back at it guiltily, bright blue against the snow. One of the windows wouldn’t shut at all, and there were the boxes of encyclopaedias in the back. Still, he thought, he couldn’t do anything about either, and if there were any thieves dedicated enough to be out in this weather willing to make off with a run down car and a box of hefty hardbacks, they probably deserved a reward for their efforts.

“Haven’t you got a hat or scarf?” the girl asked, watching him curiously. “You must be frozen.”

Frank shrugged. “Got plenty of layers,” he said, and went to rescue the torch from the boot. He was freezing, but it didn’t alter anything to complain about it, so he merely took the blanket as well, and put that over his head. “Come on.”

They walked upwards, away from the road, with Frank leading the way and the girl intermittently hanging onto his coat as he tried his best to follow the footpath across the field. It seemed to take forever just to get a few yards along, with the snow already on the ground making it hard going. The sky was low and dark with clouds, and the world beneath seemed to have turned white much too quickly. The chill of the wind wasn’t helping, either, robbing him of breath. The baby had started crying, and when he turned round, the girl was still persevering behind him, but she was shivering and blinking back tears at the cold.

They should have stayed on the road, he thought suddenly, angry with himself and his stupidity. Why had he thought the footpath was a better option? Some rescue this was – if he’d left her by the bus stop, someone else would have come along sooner or later. He stopped abruptly, and leant towards her to ask her if she’d rather go back, when she nudged at his arm.

“I saw something – a building over there. I’m sure I did!”

He squinted, in the direction she’d indicated, and breathed out again. She was right. There was definitely something there, further up the hill.

“Come on,” he said, helping her along. “We’ll be all right now, you’ll see.” 

When they reached the building, it proved to be a house, a neat white and grey box nestled halfway up the hillside. Frank opened the gate and led the way down the path to the door, and then the three of them huddled in the porch.

“What d’you think they’ll say?” the girl asked him. “They might not want strangers turning up like this.” Then she hugged the baby closer to her, and looked downward. “And they might – they might not –”

He knocked on the door. He understood what she was trying to say, but they didn’t have many other options. “Got to try, haven’t we?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, and shivered again, pressing in harder against the wall of the house, and pulling her coat in over the baby.

Frank hammered on the door again. “Anyway, it’s a moot point – I think they’re out.”

The girl said nothing, but she bit her lip and watched him out of dark eyes.

“One more try,” said Frank, making an effort to sound cheerful. “Perhaps they’re just deaf. Or old. Or both.”

“Or out,” she said wryly, after a few more minutes had passed. “Should we go back or try going on again, do you think?”

He looked out at the storm, which still showed no sign of dying down, and then back at her. “No. At least, not till the worst of it’s over.” If nothing else, they’d be better off seeing if there was a shed in the garden until it did, but he had a go at the door first, and with a bit of know-how and his right shoulder, he persuaded it to open.

“There,” he said to her. “Come on.”

“But we can’t break in!”

Frank turned his head and said nothing, but he looked at her and at the baby she was sheltering as best as she could, and waited until she nodded and stepped inside.

“You’re not a burglar, are you?” she asked in a whisper, when he joined her in the hallway.

Frank pulled the blanket from over his head, sending snow falling about him. “No! I told you. I’m a salesman. They need better locks, that’s all. Specially in an isolated place like this.”

The house was furnished and the dust hadn’t mounted up too far, but it was otherwise empty, and there was nothing perishable in the larder – no milk, butter, eggs, meat, veg, that kind of thing. There was no telephone, but there seemed to be electricity as yet, and when Frank tried the tap, there was running water.

“They must be away,” said the girl, still in a whisper, when they walked back into the hallway, still looking about them warily. “It doesn’t feel right, though. Don’t you think we should find somewhere else?”

Frank shook his head. “We don’t know how near the next house is, or in what direction. Soon as this lets up, if it does before it gets properly dark, we’ll find somewhere else, but until then, we’re staying here. It’s a matter of life or death, isn’t it?”

“We must both be mad,” she said, following him into the sitting room, where she sat down gratefully on the settee and settled the baby on her lap. “Neither of us came out prepared for this.”

“Wasn’t all this bad in London yesterday,” he said.

She smiled. “No. Not this morning, either.”

“I’ll make us some tea,” he said.

She looked up again. “We can’t use their things!”

“We’ll make a note of anything we take,” he said. “We can leave them money. Be better than nothing.”

She bit her lip. “I haven’t got much more than I needed for the bus. And it’s not only the money, is it?”

Frank understood: they couldn’t leave ration coupons, and even if they did, some things might still be irreplaceable. Not that he actually had much money on him, either, if it came to it. “True, but I think we can run to a bit of tea without doing too much damage.”

“Funny sort of burglars,” she said, with a sudden amused light in her eyes, and the idea made him laugh.

*

Frank returned with two cups of tea. “I put something in it – hope you don’t mind. Thought I ought to. You still look half frozen and it’s not as if they had a fire waiting.”

She looked up in silent enquiry. 

“Found some brandy,” he explained. “Probably for cooking, but it’ll still do, won’t it? It’s not much, don’t worry. That and a bit of powdered milk. Best I could do.”

“People should think of the burglars,” she said, accepting the cup he passed down to her. “What’s the world coming to? You break into a house and they can’t even leave you a proper cup of tea! I blame the government.”

He laughed, and then sat down in the armchair. Compared to outside, it had seemed warm when they’d come in, but it wasn’t, not really. He’d have to try and do something about that in a minute. It was all a cheek, wasn’t it, in somebody else’s house – but what else could they do? They were stuck in here, couldn’t even telephone anyone, and he didn’t want the baby to die of the cold. 

He drank his tea – it wasn’t too bad, despite everything – and looked around at the room and, more furtively, at the girl. Outside in the snow, the only details he’d been sure of were that she had dark eyes and an Irish accent. Now, he could see that she was young, probably not even yet twenty, despite the baby, with auburn hair pinned back. Pretty, he decided, with objective appreciation. 

“What do I call you?” he asked. “I’m Frank – Frank Marker, like I said.”

She had put the tea cup down already, to hold the baby, who was whimpering, against her. Now she looked across at him, and the haughty note from earlier was back in her voice. “I told you. Mrs Mortimer.”

“I can’t call you that, now, can I?” he said, and shot a glance at her hands, which were ring-less. Of course, he understood why she’d lie. He knew what people were like, the assumptions they’d make – and it wasn’t as if she knew anything about him except that he wasn’t that good at selling encyclopaedias. 

She reddened. “Helen,” she said, but she stiffened slightly and edged further back against the settee. “Anyway –”

“I know,” he said, hastily. “It’s all right. I’ll be the perfect gentleman, promise.” Which wasn’t true at all, really, except in the one sense that mattered at the moment. Besides, he didn’t know what other people were likely to get up to, but stranded in someone else’s house with a baby to look after, he didn’t think it was the moment for trying to seduce a girl. Seemed to him that they had enough problems to be going on with.

Helen set the baby down beside her and retrieved her tea. The baby – Nick she’d said – wriggled and kicked the air. He seemed to be fine, much to Frank’s relief, and, if anything, less bothered by the cold than they were. Frank’s feet were numb, while Helen still had a definite blue tinge to her face.

“What were you doing at that bus stop?” Frank asked.

She sipped at the tea, her hands cupped around it. “Waiting for a bus.”

Ask a silly question, he thought, and left it, leaning back into the chair with his tea, grateful to be inside and out of the storm.

*

The light had begun to fail already and the snow was still falling, thicker than ever. There was no chance of leaving here till the morning, so the only thing to do was to try and get a fire going in the living room and make the best of a bad situation. Helen had gone to change the baby again – she’d said something about having to wash the nappies as well – so Frank set about lighting the fire from what was to hand. Afterwards, he thought, he could try and see if he could get a bit more wood in at least. It wouldn’t be fair to use up what they had here, after all, especially not the way things were going with fuel at the moment. If, he added to himself in frustration as he failed in the third attempt, he could get the fire going at all. It had been a while, and he didn’t seem to have the knack. He was more used to uncertain shilling-fed gas heaters in bedsits, or an inadequate paraffin stove. 

Helen returned with a clothes horse and the wet cloths, which she set up by the fire. She walked out again, and then reappeared with the baby, and watched his progress – or lack of it – with a quizzical look on her face.

“Shall I try?” she said, after a while, and when he moved aside for her, set about rearranging the twists of newspaper into strategic positions with the air of someone who knew what she was doing, and very shortly, succeeded where he’d failed.

He sat in the chair, perched on the edge and watched her, his head on his hand. “Anything I can do to make myself useful?”

Helen laughed. “Oh, don’t be like that, love. You sell the encyclopaedias and rescue the car from the snowdrift. It all evens out in the end.”

“We’re going to have to stay here, you know,” he said, lowering his voice.

She nodded, and sat down opposite him. “I had rather worked that out myself.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not ideal.”

“Better than the bus stop,” she said. “Frank, I’ve been looking in the larder again and there are some tinned things we could use if we need to – but I don’t think we should just yet, do you?”

Food of some description would have been good, but he had to agree, so he pulled a face and nodded.

“I have got a couple of sandwiches I made for the journey,” she said, and then laughed. “How about that for a feast? We’ll share those, and have another cup of tea. It’ll be better than nothing.”

“You have your sandwiches,” he said. “Tea’ll do me. If there’s still electricity.”

“If there isn’t, there’s the fire,” she said. “And don’t be silly. We’ll share what there is.”

Frank opened his mouth to object, but she gave him a mischievous look, and leant over and touched his arm.

“For purely selfish motives,” she told him, mock-earnestly. “You never know, I might need you to dig us out of here in the morning!”

 

Helen brought back the two sandwiches and the tea (“Must have taken you _hours_ ,” said Frank. “Used your national loaf, did you?”) and afterwards she washed the two plates and cups, and he wiped them up, in an odd sort of play-domesticity. Then he watched her change Nick before she set about washing the nappies again, and he headed off outside to look for more wood to keep the fire going, but between the darkness and the snow, he didn’t have much luck beyond a few odd twigs.

He wondered what they’d do for the rest of the evening, but once he returned, Helen settled Nick down in one of the two armchairs (pulled against the settee so he couldn’t fall out, with a borrowed towel as a blanket) and they sat in the kitchen in candlelight with their coats on, making one pot of tea last as long as they could while they talked. The time went so quickly, he was inclined to think his watch was having him on when he consulted it.

The kitchen clock confirmed the hour, so they set about sorting the sleeping arrangements, which wasn’t going to be exactly straight-forward. Even if they’d felt happy about using other people’s beds, there wasn’t any heat upstairs, so they borrowed eiderdowns and blankets, and Helen took the settee, beside Nick, while Frank insisted he’d be fine in the armchair.

She disappeared out of the room again with his torch, while Frank rearranged the room by candlelight. He pushed his chair as far away from the settee as possible, although it didn’t do very much to improve propriety. They’d both just have to hope nobody ever knew about it. Then Helen came back in the door, carrying chair cushions. There was a battered old settee in the back room, and an armchair in one of the bedrooms and she’d evidently scavanged the collection from them.

“There,” she said, with breathless triumph but remembering to keep her voice down so as not to wake the baby. “Now, you put these together with the one from that chair, wrap that blanket of yours round it so they don’t drift apart too much in the night – push it against the wall, I should – and that’ll at least be better than sitting up in that chair.”

“No need to fuss,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

Helen leant gently back against the door to shut it. “Well, you could at least try it.”

She sounded slightly hurt at his dismissal of the idea, so he tried it and admitted she had a point. Not that he was worried where he slept, but that chair wasn’t that friendly to sit in, let alone spend the night in. 

“Not bad,” he said, to humour her, once he’d got the blanket tucked into place. One of the pieces was a bit thicker than the others, but they’d put that at the head and the rest were mostly even.

“What shall we do if they come back?” she asked, suddenly. “The people who live here.”

He shrugged. “Get a rude awakening? They won’t, will they? Not in the middle of the night in this weather.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Helen, and blew out the candle.

*

Frank hadn’t expected to sleep well, but one or two moments of confused semi-awareness aside, the next thing he knew it was beginning to grow light, and Helen was standing in the doorway, looking across at him.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she said, sounding much too alert.

He frowned at her. “What time is it?”

“Nearly eight,” she said, and smiled. “Would you like some coffee?”

He ran a hand over his face, and sat up. “How’s the weather?”

“Well,” she said, and pulled a face. “It looked a lot better in the middle of the night, but it’s snowing again now, I’m afraid.”

*

“I’m sorry,” she said, when Frank made it into the kitchen. “It’s not much of a breakfast, is it?”

Frank shrugged, and took the cup. “Better than nothing,” he said, and tilted his head towards her. “Getting used to this burglar lark, aren’t you?”

“Oh,” she said, and sat down on the chair opposite, Nick in her arms again. “Oh, I’m not!”

“Only joking,” he said, and wondered if it’d make it better or worse if he told her about his last girlfriend, who _had_ turned out to be stealing things, and not just coffee and powdered milk. Not from him, but it had put an abrupt end to the relationship. You couldn’t live with that sort of thing.

Things tended to go that way with him, when it came to girls. He wasn’t much of a prospect for a serious relationship – had never intended to be if he could help it – which meant that he couldn’t go messing a nice girl around. Trouble was, he was, in the old-fashioned sense, too nice in his notions for the girls that left available. Maybe that was unfair, but it was probably true. He had inconvenient standards, and that was how it was. 

They both wanted to leave as soon as they’d finished ‘breakfast’, but Helen looked out of the window with misgiving.

“It’s not slowing down,” she said. “It’s getting worse, if anything. I think we’ll have to wait.”

Frank went out to the hallway to put his coat on regardless. “We can’t just sit here, can we? I’ll go out, see if there’s anywhere else nearby. We could do with finding somebody to help – or at least a working telephone. Don’t tell me someone won’t be worried about you two.”

“Well,” said Helen, “true, but I don’t think they’d be happier if we froze to death trying to let them know we were all right.”

Frank headed for the door. “Look, I’ve got to try, haven’t I?”

*

The first thing he did was make his way back down to the road. There was no sign of any traffic; in fact there wasn’t all that much sign of the road itself, although the bus stop was still there, and his hired car, though that was half buried now. With some difficulty and a bit of contortionism, he managed to rescue one encyclopaedia volume through the window that had stuck open, and stopped back at the house, both to prove he could find it again, and to drop off the book.

Frank debated whether to go up or down, and decided to carry on upwards, sure there must be something over the hill – maybe at least some sort of view, even in this blizzard. He tried to keep going straight along the footpath, but he must have headed too far to one side or the other because he took one more step and his leg sank right into the snow, pitching him over. 

He had a moment of panic, scrabbling about at loose snow to try and pull himself out of what must be a hidden ditch, and then he managed it, and fell back over into the snow in the field. He got to his feet again, and shook himself, but that was enough. 

He’d go back, he decided, and wait for it to slow down. If it’d stop snowing, then he could see where direction he was heading in. 

*

Helen came out into the hallway when he made it back – and then stopped abruptly on seeing his snow-covered state.

“Yes, well,” he said defensively, at her wide-eyed look. “Had an argument with a snowdrift.”

Helen helped him off with his coat, and then surveyed him worriedly. “Well, you can’t stay in those clothes!”

Frank swung round in alarm, and she visibly fought laughter at his expression.

“It’s bad enough as it is,” he told her. “Thought you were the one worrying about what people would say –”

“You don’t want to wind up with pneumonia,” she said briskly. “That won’t help, will it? Oh, don’t be silly! Just hang up that jacket and the trousers to dry – and you can use one of their blankets or borrow some clothes for a bit if you’re that worried!”

“Might do that.” He hunched a little, not caring for her interference in what he wore, or didn’t wear. “Maybe I will.”

She looked at him again. “Hmm, I think I’d better go and fetch you something –”

“I can manage!”

Helen widened her eyes, though she still seemed still more amused than offended. “You’ll drip on everything, that’s all.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yes. I see.” 

She crossed to the door, pausing by him. “Oh, I know, love,” she said, leaning forward a little, suddenly very earnest and looking younger than ever with it. “You wanted to get out of here. So do I, but, if it can’t be helped, what else can we do?” She shrugged, and then took the last few steps to the kitchen door. “I won’t be a minute – then I’ll get out of your way and you can change.”

Frank nodded, and managed a still slightly resentful: “Thanks.”

*

The trousers proved not to be the right size, to say the least. The man of the house was evidently a good deal wider and shorter than Frank, and the result caused Helen to laugh helplessly when she saw him and Frank to scowl for a minute or two until his own sense of humour caught up with him, and he first grinned, and then broke into laughter himself. 

“Couldn’t you find anything else?” he asked. 

She folded her arms. “Not unless you’d like a dress!”

However, combined with the blanket, they weren’t too bad as a temporary measure, so he sat down – carefully – and picked up his encyclopaedia.

“You’re not going to read that, are you?” Helen asked, watching him rather as if he was a specimen at the zoo.

Frank shrugged. “Not much else to do now, is there?” Then he looked up at her more seriously. “Is there?”

“No.” She picked up Nick from the armchair, which was still pushed against the settee for safety. “I wish there was! What do you think we ought to do about the food?”

“I suppose we’ll have to use something,” he said. “Still, we’ll keep that list, leave what we can for it. I could leave them my address, I suppose.”

Helen looked back at him for a long while.

“What?” he said, eventually, puzzled as to what it was she wasn’t saying.

She bit her lip, and then said, “Well, Frank – they might not understand. They might not even if they came back now –”

“No. Specially not with me in their clothes.”

“No. But they’d see Nick, and we might be able to explain, face to face, but even so, they might call the police. If you left your _address_ –”

Frank saw what she was getting at, and began to laugh. “Most easily solved case the local constabulary ever had?”

“Well,” she said. “You couldn’t blame them, could you? I don’t know how I’d feel about it, if it was my house. How about you?”

“If anybody managed to get snowed up in my bedsit, it’d be an achievement,” he said. “Unlucky for them, too. There aren't any tins in the larder. Not really what you could call a larder, either.”

“And imagine if they lost anything,” Helen added, keeping to the point. “We might know we haven’t taken anything more than some tea and powdered milk, but they’d be sure to blame us.”

“I’ll be careful what I write, promise,” he said, and then turned his attention back to the encyclopaedia, making a start with F for Frank. Seemed as good a letter as any out of the four he had available.

“Why go back for that?” Helen asked, after a while of giving Nick all her attention. Frank didn’t watch her as such, but he didn’t exactly read the encyclopaedia’s essay on Farming, either.

“Thought if we needed more paper to start the fire – well, we can borrow things, but we can’t burn other people’s papers and books!”

Helen laughed again. “You know, you really _are_ a terrible salesman!”

“Who says?” Frank shot back. Then he thought it over, and gave a sheepish grin. “Look, I haven’t had the chance to find out yet.”

Helen bounced Nick on her lap. “Anyway, you needn’t worry. They’ve got a whole stack of old newspapers there.”

“What about you?” he asked. “What were you doing out there, in the middle of nowhere?”

“Oh,” said Helen, and looked away, colouring. “Well.”

Frank watched her over the top of the book. “We seem to be trapped with each other for a few more hours yet, so you might as well explain. After all, for all I know, you could be a desperate criminal on the run.”

“Nothing so dramatic! I was going to visit a relative. She hasn’t seen Nick and she had some things for him – well, never mind. The weather was getting worse, though, and the bus was half empty, and I thought it’d be best to turn round and go back, so I did. Got off at the very next stop. And then no bus ever came the other way.”

“You didn’t think to wait for somewhere a bit more civilised?”

“I thought best sooner than later, the way the snow was beginning to fall. Silly, I know, but it was too late once it had gone.”

Frank turned over a page of his encyclopaedia. “Well, people have done sillier things. Some people even set out to sell people things in a dodgy car in the middle of a blizzard.”

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, causing him to look up sharply.

“Eh?”

“I’m not sure what I’d have done, stuck there with Nick if you hadn’t come along.”

He shrugged, but he reddened slightly. “Someone else would have done.”

“One or two did,” she said, “but nobody else stopped. So, I’m grateful. That’s all.”

Frank nodded.

“Now,” she said, “shall I go and find us something to eat? If you really think we should.”

He looked up at her again. “Well, don’t you? Don’t want you passing out on me when we try to leave, do I?”

“Yes, I do,” she said, with sudden decision. “I’ll see what they have at least.” Then she frowned at him. “I’m not going to pass out!”

“Will if you don’t eat,” Frank said. “Think of the baby!”

Helen glanced down at Nick, and then gave Frank a wary look. “You wouldn’t watch Nick again, would you?”

“Of course,” he said, straightening up. 

As soon as she’d left the room, Frank set about entertaining the baby with his keys. He hadn’t had much experience of looking after infants, but where he’d grown up, people tended to be in and out of each other’s houses, and there were always somebody’s children around. Besides, Nick seemed to be a relatively sunny little chap.

No sooner had that thought passed through his mind than Nick started up with a wail that made him wonder if Helen would come running back in and demand to know what he’d done to her son. However, he picked the baby up, awkwardly and soon discovered what the problem was. Having watched Helen twice yesterday, he decided that he could probably manage to change him, and grabbed the dry nappy from where it was hanging by the fire and carried Nick out to the kitchen.

Helen wasn’t there, but when she came back in to find what he was doing, she raised her eyebrows, before heading across to something heating in a saucepan. “Oh, love. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Not that difficult,” he said. “Think I got it right, but you’d probably better make sure.”

She glanced down at the saucepan, and then back at him with Nick on the draining board. “Swap?”

Frank obliged, and she reclaimed the baby and examined his handiwork. “Not bad,” she said, tightening the nappy. “Quite good for a first attempt!”

“Oh, thanks, miss.”

She laughed, and pulled Nick up into her arms. “Are you married, then?”

“No, no, not me,” he said, and tilted his head slightly, teasing her back. “It’s not all that complicated, you know.”

“True,” she said, with wry humour. “Some people seem to imagine it is, though!”

Frank peered down at the saucepan. “Tomato soup, is it?”

“Yes,” she said. “I found two tins of it, so I took one. There are some biscuits we can have, and then later on, if we still can’t get out, we could have a tin of sardines. Beyond that, I really don’t know. I don’t want to rob them of things they’ve been saving.”

“I wouldn’t worry. This snow has got to let up soon,” said Frank. “In the meantime, sounds like quite the banquet, doesn’t it?”

Helen looked back at him, and then they both laughed until Frank let the soup boil, because what else could anybody do in times like these?

*

The weather hadn’t eased off by the afternoon, either, to Frank’s dismay. He retreated back into his encyclopaedia, and got up to “Fir”, while Nick slept and Helen played Patience with a borrowed pack of cards, until she persuaded him to join her.

“What shall we play, then? Strip Jack Naked?”

Helen gave him a shocked look. “That’s not a game! Is it?”

“Well, Beat Jack Out of Doors, then.”

“Oh,” she said, and laughed. “Oh, Beggar My Neighbour, you mean. You are awful!”

Frank only grinned back at her, and dealt out the cards.

*

“So where is he?” Frank asked, between two games. The snow still hadn’t stopped and he was beginning to wonder if they’d been somehow transported to the North Pole. “Your Mr Mortimer, I mean.”

Helen shot him a wary look.

“Only asking,” he said. “I mean, won’t he be wondering where you are?”

Helen shook her head. “Shouldn’t think so.” Then she gave him a brief smile. “Oh, I don’t mean that he _wouldn’t_ , it’s only that I was staying with my sister, so I doubt he knows.”

“Oh?” Frank found that he liked the sound of Nick’s absent father less and less.

Helen coloured, evidently catching the criticism in his tone. “I _was_ with Denis, but he’s a student and he had to move digs. And I couldn’t stay at home –”

“Like that, is it?” he asked. “Sorry.”

She collected up the cards, very carefully. “Oh, it’s not them so much as – well, you know what people are; how the neighbours talk! Not fair to them, is it? At any rate, I don’t think so.”

“No,” he said. “None of my business. Forget I said anything. But won’t your sister be worrying, then?”

Helen shrugged. “Probably. But I can’t do anything about that now, can I?”

“True.”

She looked over at him, as she passed him the cards to shuffle. “What about you? There must be someone missing you, surely?”

“No.” Frank lifted his head. Then he gave the question some thought, and shook his head. “Nah. Give it another few days and somebody might notice. Landlady’d want the rent – and they’d miss the car and those encyclopaedias.”

Helen watched as he dealt out the cards. “Oh, I am sorry.”

“No need,” he said. “Just how things work out – you lose touch.”

She didn’t look as if she understood, but she said no more about it, and only asked what he’d done before he’d set out to try and sell encyclopaedias.

“This and that,” he said. “All sorts.”

She leant forward, giving him a quick, wry smile. “Oh, dear.”

“No,” he said, not liking the idea that she’d think he couldn’t keep a job down, or wasn’t any good at anything. “I don’t like being tied down, that’s all. Then sometimes you find something you like, and next thing you realise the boss’s fiddling the customers or making dodgy deals on the side. You can’t work at a place like that, not if that’s all they’re interested in, just making money.”

Helen looked amused, if still sympathetic. “That _is_ a problem. Businesses do tend to want to make money!”

“No, you know what I mean,” he said, screwing up his face in frustration. “But it’s no good if that’s all it’s for. They’re just crooks – cutting corners, cheating the customers, all that kind of thing. I thought at least with this, I’d be out and about, and it’d be me on my own and no funny business.”

“Ah. I’m sure you will find something you like one day.”

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging defensively. “Don’t know if it matters. I get by. Anyway, you know how it is – the system’s rigged against you. You wear yourself out, and it’s someone else who makes all the profit – usually someone who’s got more than enough to start with.”

Helen raised her eyebrows. “Socialist, are we?”

“No,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “No. Well, a bit. In theory. Look, shall we play this game or not bother?”

She nodded. “Oh, sorry – yes, let’s. Oh, but don’t be down-hearted, love. You’ll find something.”

“Oh?”

“Of _course_ you will,” she said, with such faith in her words that he couldn’t take offence. Then she directed a more mischievous glance at him. “Not _that_ old yet, are you?”

He glared back. “Not old at all, thanks!” Not old, but it had been ten years since he’d left school and he was starting to wonder about some of the choices he’d made. He didn’t want to spend his life as part of the factory machinery, or shut away in a dusty office, that was true. And, growing up, he hadn’t seen much of domesticity that appealed to him: only arguments and responsibilities, and disappointing other people when you couldn’t live up to even the lowest of expectations. He thought that still, but sometimes he had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d slammed a door too hard in his own face.

But, he thought, beginning to feel angry, if he’d got a girl in trouble, he wouldn’t have left her to carry everything. There were things you did, and things you didn’t do, and that was one of them. He decided that he despised the unknown Denis. He didn’t have any prospects, or anything more than about £23 in the bank (and that was only because it had been a good few months until this encyclopaedia fiasco), but he’d have done what he could, even down to taking factory work. The revolutionary notion struck him, that trying to set up home with Helen might be worth it – fun even. It wasn’t an option for him, of course, but Denis was an idiot.

Then he sighed to himself and looked up at the window. It was getting dark again already, and they were going to have to stay here another night now, weren’t they?

*

Later on, at the end of the evening, Frank made the mistake of voicing some of those thoughts aloud. Helen had poked her head round the door of the kitchen to announce that Nick seemed settled for the night and that she might as well go and join him.

He nodded, and then leant back in his chair towards her. “Helen.”

“Yes?”

“He’s not worth it,” he said, abruptly, as he got to his feet. “Denis, whatever his name is. He’s not worth it.”

Helen caught hold of the edge of the door tightly, blinking in surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“Well,” he said. “How old’s Nick? Four, five months? That boyfriend of yours has had the best part of year now, hasn’t he? If he can’t be bothered to marry you, then he’s only thinking of himself. Even if he does get round to it eventually, it’s hardly going to work out, is it? Not if he only ever does what suits him.”

“Oh!” she said, in incoherent anger. “Is that what you think? You don’t know anything about either of us – and it’s none of your business!”

Frank shrugged. “No, it’s not. Call it a warning, though. Take it or leave it, but I think you could do better.”

“Oh? Found that in an encyclopaedia, too, did you?” She gave him another glare, and left the kitchen, shutting the door behind her with a decisive click.

Frank sat back down at the wooden table and glowered at the encyclopaedia. Well, he told himself, since it seemed to be true, it was better if somebody said it before it was too late, wasn’t it? 

Then he sighed heavily, because, of course it wasn’t; it never was, and he should learn to keep his mouth shut. He did the only thing he could, and kept out of her way, sitting half frozen in the kitchen with a candle and an encyclopaedia until he felt sure she must be asleep.

*

He woke up in the middle of the night. It was unnervingly dark and silent in the room and, used as he was to the noise and bustle of London, he experienced a moment of disorientation. He reached for the torch, put it under the borrowed eiderdown and turned it on to get a look at his watch.

Two-fifteen, he read, and sighed to himself. “Helen?” he called softly, wondering if she was up with Nick and that was what had woken him. There was no answer, and he risked shining his torch out in the room, but she wasn’t there. He went to find her.

Helen was in the kitchen with Nick, walking up and down, while the kettle boiled.

“You all right?” he asked, and then in embarrassment saw that she was crying. He backed himself up against the wall, and wondered whether to say anything or to pretend he hadn’t noticed. She’d seemed so cheerful till now, even in these circumstances.

She nodded. “Yes. Of course. Sorry if I woke you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “About before, I mean. None of my business, you’re right. That’s not what upset you, is it?”

Helen bit her lip and pulled Nick in closer, half hiding her face. “No. Well, no. Not really.”

“What do I know?” he said.

She swallowed. “What you said – even if it were true, the thing is – Denis is Nick’s father. You see, don’t you? As long as he’ll stand by me –” Then she stopped. 

“Yes,” he said, cutting in to save her any more embarrassment, and then nodded. “Yes.” He did understand, even if he didn’t agree. She had principles, too; inconvenient standards of her own, and he respected that. 

Helen gave him a tired smile that didn’t reach very far across her face. “Anyway, it isn’t true – we’ll say no more about it.”

“Of course,” he agreed, and moved across to take the kettle off the hob. She already knew, he thought guiltily, and all he’d done was to rub her face in it. He sighed, but he’d said more than enough already. “Tea?”

She nodded. “Please.”

“Then we’ll go back in the other room, and I can read you some of my encyclopaedia if you like. That’ll soon get you to sleep.”

Helen kissed Nick’s head, and then gave Frank another amused look. “I don’t think being a salesman is your calling, love.”

“What’ll it be?” he said, as the kettle began to whistle. “Choose a category, and any letter you like – as long as it’s between E and H!”

Helen laughed. “Oh, places – countries, cities – the further away the better. No facts about populations and exports, mind. As to the letter – surprise me.”

“The Fs are looking pretty good so far,” he said, and they got as far as Fiji and Finland before they went back to sleep.

*

Frank woke up suddenly again, this time by somebody unexpectedly switching on the light and yelling out, and then the baby screaming. He sat up sharply, and saw Helen reaching for Nick, and an unknown somebody heading back out of the door.

He scrambled after them, halting in the doorway as he found their visitor in the hallway – a middle-aged woman bundled up in a thick coat. 

“Stay back!” the woman said, edging further away. 

Frank glanced back at Helen, who was doing her best to calm Nick back down. Then he took a cautious step into the hall. “Look, don’t go – we didn’t mean any harm. We got caught out by the snow and we could use your help.”

“But who are you? What are you doing in here?” she demanded.

“It was the only place we found,” he said. “I know, we shouldn’t be in here, but we couldn’t see anywhere else, and we had the baby to think of. We’ve been stuck here since – we don’t know the area.”

The woman said, “Well, yes, you _shouldn’t_ be here!” She had greying brown hair and glasses, but beyond that she was too well wrapped up with thick coat, boots and headscarf to tell. “This is my brother’s house. He and his wife are away, visiting relatives abroad, and I told him I’d come round every other day, keep an eye on the place. I didn’t expect this!”

“Look,” said Frank, “if you’re here, the snow must have eased up, so we’ll be only too glad to be on our way. We’ll just need some directions – maybe if there’s a phone somewhere we can use? My car’s buried out there in the snow, and I’m not sure I can get it going again.”

The woman nodded. “I see.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced, though, and Frank couldn’t say that he blamed her.

Helen joined Frank by the doorway, holding Nick who had quietened down to a slight whimpering. “I am sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what you must think of us, but we’d never have done this if it hadn’t been for Nick.”

In the end, it was the baby who saved the situation, since at that point, amid more explanations and production of the note and the few shillings they’d been able to leave, Nick treated the woman to a big smile and that softened her nicely. (Frank wanted to know if Helen had got him trained or if it came naturally.)

“Well!” the woman said. “I suppose the only thing to do is to send you on your way, then.” She folded up the note and pocketed it, and the shillings with it. “Where is it you and your wife were going?”

Helen looked up, and Frank, catching her expression, hastily stepped in before she undid everything by telling the woman in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t her husband. 

“I need to get back to the car,” he explained. “Dig it out, give it the kiss of life and all that, but Helen and Nick need to go back to London, or at least, nearest place where they can get a train or bus that’s actually running.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “We’ll tidy here, and then I’ll take you back with me and we’ll work something out. I’m sure my husband can give you a hand with the car anyway.”

*

Helen and Frank put the chairs back where they’d found them, and gathered up their coats, Frank’s blanket, Helen’s bag, and the encyclopaedia, while their newfound friend went over the house, probably checking the valuables.

“I’m not your wife!” said Helen in an outraged undertone, as she gathered up the two borrowed eiderdowns.

Frank shook his head at her. “Didn’t say you were, did I? Do you want to try telling her the truth? What d’you think she’d say?”

“If she learns that I’m just an unmarried mother you picked up at the bus stop?”

“Yes.”

Helen put her hand to her mouth, and laughed helplessly. “Oh, dear,” she said, eventually. “I don’t know why I’m laughing. It isn’t even funny.”

“What else can you do?” he said, smiling at her. “Anyway, as long as there’s a chance of getting you two safely back to civilisation, that’s what’s important.”

Helen let him help her on with her coat. “What about you?”

“Got to get rid of those encyclopaedias first, haven’t I?” He hesitated and then said, “I wouldn’t mind knowing you were all right. If you’d give me an address, I could look you up when I get back.”

She nodded, and sat back down on the settee to fish for pen and paper in her bag. “Of course, love! I wouldn’t mind knowing you’d made it home, either. There.” She passed over the paper, and he pocketed it before putting his coat on.

“Well,” he said, lowering his voice again, as they heard the woman coming down the stairs, “it was a bit of mess, wasn’t it, but I have to say the company wasn’t bad.”

Helen only smiled, midway through wrapping Nick up as thoroughly as possible. “Oh, I expect you say that to all the girls you find at bus stops!”

*

They followed the woman – Mrs Harris, she’d said – back to a farm further up and over the hill. Once there, she took them into the farmhouse, and let them have some breakfast while she and her husband, and another brother, Charles (who seemed to be the one who owned the farm), decided what to do with them. Luckily, it didn’t seem to involve calling the police. Eventually, Mr Harris said he’d help Frank with the car, and Charles needed to get into town anyway, using one of the farm vehicles. They’d phone the train and bus station first, and see what transport was running between there and London.

That sounded as if Helen was sorted at least, so Frank said goodbye to her before he headed off down to the road to rescue the car with Mr Harris.

“Do let me know how you get on,” she said. “And thank you for everything.”

He shrugged. “Yes, well, maybe I ought to thank you.”

“What for?”

“Well, just think,” he said, “driving about in that weather, in that car. Probably if I’d carried on, I’d have come off the road and been crushed to death by encyclopaedias.”

She laughed. “You are silly.”

Frank leant in and kissed her goodbye.

“Frank!” she said.

“They think we’re married.”

“Well, that’s no excuse,” she said, though she smiled, robbing her words of sternness.

Frank grinned at her. “Funny, I always thought it was!”

Then his attention was claimed by Mr Harris, who turned up with a couple of shovels and some leads, and wanted to know where this car of his was.

“Austin Ruby, did you say?” Mr Harris wanted to know. “Nice cars, those. Reliable.”

Frank stared ahead. “Yeah, well, nobody seems to have told mine that.”

“Still,” said the farmer cheerfully. “Come on – can’t leave a lady like that lying in the snow.”

Frank had to laugh to himself. “No. No, of course not.”

They made their way down through the snow, and Frank thought to himself as they went, that when it came to girls, he might have collected another inconvenient standard – this time, that other girls weren’t Helen.

But you never knew, he thought, and he had her address, didn’t he? Now, if that Denis of hers didn’t come back, or went away again, and if Frank could sell these encyclopaedias, and find some sensible work, it might be worth trying, and trying was something he could manage.

He looked over at Mr Harris as they walked down the hill. “Don’t suppose you’re interested in a set of _The A-to-Z of Everything_ , are you?”

**Author's Note:**

> While I couldn't claim this fic to have been exactly deeply researched, what facts there are largely come courtesy of Simon Garfield _Our Hidden Lives: The Remarkable Diaries of Post-War Britain_ and the websites [Cornwall Austin 7 Club](http://www.austin7.org/Road%20Tests/Ruby%20MK%202/) (for the Austin Ruby) and the detailed page at cooksinfor.com on [British Wartime Food](http://www.cooksinfo.com/british-wartime-food).


End file.
